Our van made it four blocks before getting pulled over. Over the top of the stacked luggage I saw that we were not being stopped by a marked vehicle. It was a sedan with one of those portable ‘Kojak’ red lights stuck to its roof.
“You got somebody named Arch Patton in that thing?” the driver was asked. I spied the questioner from my spot in the back seat on the passenger side. A knowing sigh escaped from me. The man was obviously an FBI agent. Their kind wore the same uniform. A suit of mediocre color and quality, coupled with a short cheap haircut. Sunglasses had been added over the years, following an FBI director’s enchantment with the cheesy movie Smokey and the Bandit. I opened the door and got out.